


don't leave me tongue tied

by worry



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, M/M, Writer Raphael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 18:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9084040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worry/pseuds/worry
Summary: "Thank you," Raphael says, pulling Simon aside. "I forgot to bring something.""It's completely cool," Simon tells him. "What do you do, though, anyways? Wait, don't tell me - interpretive dance? You seem like the kind of guy who does interpretive dance."Raphael snorts. "I'm a poet, actually.""A poet," Simon says with fake disgust."A poet," Raphael repeats."I'd love to hear some of your work," Simon says. "We're here every Sunday. Actually bring something next time. Uh, if you want to come back, that is.""I will," Raphael says, and smiles.(Or: the one where Simon serenades Raphael to an acoustic cover of Like a Virgin, Raphael continues to embarrass himself in front of the entire open mic crowd (he's a good poet, swear), and Raphael makes the mistake of falling deeply in like with Simon Lewis.)





	

Here's the thing: Raphael Santiago does not make mistakes.

 

He plans out his every move, calculates every possible outcome of every possible situation. He eats healthy, and makes his food at exactly eight-thirty at night. He uses every possible safety precaution when using the oven and stove, because Raphael does not make mistakes and burning your apartment down would probably qualify as a mistake.

 

When he rides his motorcycle (shut _up,_ it was Magnus' idea, _you should get a motorcycle, you'll win over every guy in Brooklyn_ ), he wears a helmet and appropriate clothing, because no one else seems to care and Raphael doesn't make mistakes. Safety is a very important thing, especially when you have a motorcycle and take it everywhere silently hoping that your neighbor is right and people will think it's hot.

 

When he goes to the store, he thanks the greeters and the cashiers and every employee he can find, because he's a nice guy and if he didn't, he would feel like he was making a mistake.

 

Raphael Santiago does _not_ make mistakes.

 

That doesn't really explain why he's at a coffee shop, ready to read his poetry out loud for the very first time in his life. Things like this, in Raphael's mind, are _huge_ mistakes.

 

People could judge him. People could laugh at him and say his work is horrible and then he'll never be able to go outside ever again. People could make fun of him. He's never done _anything_ like this.

 

Talking to people is a mistake. Going outside of your comfort zone is a mistake.

 

Reading extremely personal poetry in front of at _least_ fifty people when the last time you tried public speaking you started crying is something bigger than a mistake. It's something huge and messy that he will never recover from. He'll _die,_ probably. Then he'll come back from the dead and he'll be forced to live with this embarrassment because that's Raphael's luck.

 

Yet: he's still in the coffee shop. Still waiting to make the biggest mistake of his life.

 

He can do this. He's _Raphael Santiago,_ and he's not afraid of anything.

 

Except, maybe, feeling someone tap him on the shoulder and turning around to see a really cute guy staring at him.

 

He's not afraid. He just wasn't expecting it.

 

"Can I help you?" he asks.

 

He tries to study the guy discreetly; glasses, some shirt that is probably a reference to a television show that Raphael hasn't seen, skinny jeans, guitar. He's not Raphael's type at all, but apparently, today is Raphael Goes Out Of His Comfort Zone And Inevitably Dies day. So.

 

"Well, you can stop checking me out, for one thing," Cute Guy says, and Raphael is dead. He's dead. There's no way he can go on like this.

 

"I'm sorry that it looked like I was checking you out," Raphael says. "I wasn't—"

 

"It's okay," he replies. "I know that I'm really attractive. No, um, I just saw you and you were, like, freaking out. I wanted to make sure you're okay."

 

 "I'm fine," Raphael says, sharply. "I don't 'freak out'. I am completely calm."

 

"Yeah, whatever you say. It's your first time at open mic, huh?"

 

"What gives you that impression?"

 

"The fact that you _weren't_ freaking out," he says with a wink, and Raphael dies again.

 

"It _may_ or _may not_ be my first time, yes."

 

"You want me to introduce you to all of the regulars? There's Maureen, she performs with me. My best friend, Clary, who did the murals on the walls. Luke, who works here and is the most amazing guy you'll ever meet in your life. Lydia—"

 

"Not interested," Raphael interrupts.

 

"Okay," Cute Guy says, and his eyes widen. "Well, I'm Simon! I'm going up next. Let me know if I should dedicate the song to, uh..."

 

"Raphael," he supplies. "That's very flattering, but also very unnecessary."

 

"Raphael," Simon repeats. Raphael thinks that his name sounds beautiful, coming out of this Simon's mouth. "Nice name. And do I look like a guy who does things that he doesn't want to do? Seriously. It's my life's goal, practically, to make you happy, Raphael. Let me dedicate my song to you, so you know you've got a friend here. Also, so that you're forced to tell me that my voice is beautiful."

 

"Do I look like the kind of guy who lies to people, even when they dedicate songs to him?"

 

"Touché," Simon says. "It was worth a try. I guess I'll just have to _show_ you that my voice is beautiful, huh? You won't be disappointed."

 

 _I don't think you could ever disappoint me,_ Raphael thinks.

 

Then he stops.

 

"I guess you will," Raphael says.

 

He starts off his performance with _this song is dedicated to Raphael, that obnoxious guy in the corner over there,_ and proceeds to sing an acoustic cover of "Send Me an Angel".

 

There are some songs that should just _never_ have acoustic covers. This, apparently, is one of them.

 

Okay, he does have a pretty good voice. It would be better if he decided to sing something _other_ than a 1980s pop hit. Seriously. There are _so many_ slow songs that Simon could have used, but for some unknown reason, he woke up in the morning and decided _hey, why don't I sing "Send Me an Angel" today specifically to torment Raphael Santiago?_

 

Raphael decides that before he dies, he's going to teach Simon to appreciate music from this century. Even if it takes fifty years. He's going to _do it._

 

He doesn't even _know_ Simon, but Raphael can't let him go on like this. This absolutely must be stopped.

 

He's pretty sure that he's some sort of undead supernatural creature (vampire, maybe? Zombie?) when Simon finishes singing and says: "Next up we have that one guy I mentioned earlier, I forgot his name already. I think it's something like Richard? Ronald?"

 

Raphael is going to _kill him._

 

"Oh, yeah. Raphael. Come on up, Raphael."

 

He walks up to the stage. Simon is staring at him from the back of the room with a smile on his face. Raphael reaches into his pocket and pulls out a —

 

Nothing?

 

There's nothing in his pocket except for his wallet and keys.

 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, _shit._

 

He forgot to bring something to read.

 

How, he thinks, does one forget to bring a poem to a poetry reading? He has never been able to memorize his poetry. He could _try._ But. That takes an incredible amount of effort.

 

This is a mistake. Raphael Santiago does not make mistakes.

 

Yet: he's standing here with nothing.

 

Okay. This is okay. This is fine. He is absolutely fine, and not freaking out in any way. Another thing that Raphael doesn't do: "freak out". When he's scared, he's scared in a very calm and collected manner. If you looked at Raphael when he's scared, you wouldn't know it. He's very good at hiding his emotions. When he has them, that is.

 

He can get through this. He can humiliate himself in front of a shit ton of people and he'll be _fine._

 

... _Yeah._

 

"Um," he says finally, nose accidentally bumping into the microphone, "I don't—"

 

"You don't want to? You want an encore, instead?" Simon shouts. "Well, how can I say no to such a polite request?"

 

 _Oh, God,_ Raphael thinks, and then: _I'd rather embarrass myself than listen to another one of his songs._

 

He appears behind Raphael and starts singing "Like a Virgin" and Raphael can't help but laugh his ass off.

 

Then he realizes that Simon literally saved him, and the laughter dies.

 

Simon _saved him._

 

No one has ever done anything like this for Raphael.

 

It's odd, because you'd think Raphael - the guy who rides a motorcycle and writes poetry and wears jackets in hot weather to Look Cool - would know more than one person that is nice to him, but nope. Nada. Nothing.

 

When Simon finishes, everyone cheers.

 

"Thank you," Raphael says, pulling Simon aside. "I forgot to bring something."

 

"It's completely cool," Simon tells him. "What do you do, though, anyways? Wait, don't tell me - interpretive dance? You seem like the kind of guy who does interpretive dance."

 

Raphael snorts. "I'm a poet, actually."

 

"A poet," Simon says with fake disgust.

 

"A poet," Raphael repeats.

 

"I'd love to hear some of your work," Simon says. "We're here every Sunday. Actually _bring_ something next time. Uh, if you want to come back, that is."

 

"I will," Raphael says, and smiles.

 

"Oh, and you owe me a favor."

 

"I do?" Raphael asks.

 

"Yeah," Simon says. "You have to let me introduce you to my friends."

 

"Let's not go crazy," Raphael says flatly. "How about instead I give you my number?"

 

"I don't, uh, have a phone," Simon says. "I think Clary just yelled my name, so I have to go—"

 

"I didn't hear anything."

 

"We have, like, a telepathic connection, so that's probably why. Come back next week, okay? I gotta — I gotta go. Nice to meet you."

 

Simon walks away and almost falls into a table, and Raphael thinks it's probably the cutest thing ever.

 

This is bad. This is the worst thing that could possibly happen.

 

_He has feelings._

* * *

 

Here’s yet another thing that Raphael Santiago _does not do:_ watch television. He doesn’t have time for it. It’s embarrassing, it’s _beneath him._ Imagine spending all of your time thinking about fictional characters. That would be, somehow, a mistake, and everyone knows that Raphael Santiago does not make mistakes. He has more important things to do! He has work! Okay, so he doesn’t have an _actual job,_ but who needs an _actual_ job when you can make money on the internet in various ways? He has a social life! Okay, so he knows Magnus Bane and, by association, Alec Lightwood, but that’s it.

 

 So his life is pretty pathetic, but whatever. He still doesn’t watch television. His life is devoted to _writing,_ and browsing the internet, and running a blog that consists entirely of him complaining about bad food, obnoxious people, and the occasional bitterness over politics. He has a good time without watching television.

 

Except.

 

The Simon Incident fucked him up. He is completely absolutely super duper _fucked up._ It’s not every day that you meet really cute guys who actually care about you. In Raphael’s case, that is.

 

He’ll probably never see Simon again. Brooklyn is a very big city.

 

He’s screwed. So, in unrelated news, Parks and Recreation is a _really_ good show.

 

And, okay, his life is kind of maybe saved when he hears a knock on his door, and then, moments later, hears Magnus walk through the door. It’s obviously Magnus, because A. Magnus is the only other person with a key to his apartment, and B. Magnus always groans when he walks in. Apparently Raphael’s taste in wallpaper isn’t the best, according to Magnus, but who doesn’t love dark purple with a teal accent? Right?

 

Well. Apparently Magnus Bane.

 

Anyways. A distraction is Exactly what he needs, something to stop him from thinking too much about Simon. Cute Guy Simon. Beautiful Voice Simon.

 

“I heard laughter,” Magnus says, “along with, oh, the faint sound of Amy Poehler’s voice. I thought maybe someone broke in.”

 

“Contrary to popular opinion,” Raphael replies, “I am capable of laughter.”

 

“Yes, but last time I checked, you’re not Amy Poehler.”

 

Raphael sighs. “I’ve had an interesting day. I needed something to distract me. And it worked, until…”

 

“Until me?” Magnus asks. “I’m heartbroken.”

 

  _Oh, right._

 

 "Let me guess," Raphael says, "Alec is working late tonight, so you decided to come over and bug me for entertainment?"

 

"Do I bug you, Raphael?" Magnus asks, sitting down on his couch.

 

"Of course not," Raphael replies. He sits down across from Magnus, who studies his face for a moment and frowns.

 

"You have the face," he says.

 

"I do have a face, thank you for noticing."

 

Magnus shakes his head. "No, you have _the face_."

 

"I don't follow."

 

"It's your I Met A Boy face," Magnus says. "I am very familiar with this face."

 

"What?" Raphael says. "Magnus, I only have one face."

 

"I know. You have the face of an angel. A very, very distraught angel."

 

" _Magnus_."

 

"But we've been neighbors for three years. I know your I Met Someone face."

 

" _Fine_ ," Raphael sighs. "I might have met someone when I went to open mic."

 

"You went to an open mic? I'm proud of you."

 

"Thank you. But I made... a _mistake_ ," Raphael says. His voice is quiet; Raphael Santiago doesn't make mistakes and Magnus knows this. This boy must be very interesting, he thinks, if he can make Raphael admit his mistakes.

 

"Go on."

 

"I forgot to bring a poem to read," he continues. "I'm not sure how. It was embarrassing. I was up on the stage, and then... he rescued me from looking like a complete idiot. He came up on stage and sang to me."

 

"So he basically serenaded you?"

 

Raphael stops because Magnus is right. Simon dedicated the song to him, and then sang again _with him._ He was serenaded by a very cute and talented guy.

 

This has never happened before.

 

This is new.

 

"I guess so," Raphael says. A smile finds its way onto his face. Damn smile. How _dare_ it ruin Raphael's Cool Guy With No Emotions facade.

 

"I'm very happy for you," Magnus tells him.

 

"He looked scared when I asked for his number, so I'm pretty sure it's not going anywhere, but thank you."

 

"Don't be so negative," Magnus says. "You have to think positively."

 

"Okay, I'm very positive that he doesn't like me."

 

Magnus glares at him.

 

"Anyway, enough about my nonexistent love life. How are things with Alec?"

 

Magnus' face lights up at the name. "Wonderful!" he says. "Isabelle and Jace came over last night and we watched a movie together. Then when they left—"

 

"There are things I would prefer not to know," Raphael interrupts.

 

"What? Get your mind out of the gutter. He fell asleep with his head on my lap."

 

"Oh," Raphael says. "That sounds nice."

 

"It _was_ rather cute. Hey, you don't have any of those chocolate snack cakes in the cupboard, do you?"

 

"I only buy them for you," Raphael says, "so yes. I don't get the appeal of chocolate, personally, but it makes you happy, so I guess it’s good."

 

"They're delicious," Magnus says. "And I'm sorry to be a bother, but may I borrow some beauty products?"

 

"That's code for Raphael, I Conveniently Lost My Eyeliner And Nail Polish Again, isn't it?"

 

"You know me so well."

 

"Go ahead," Raphael says. "You know, Magnus, you somehow always know exactly when I'm in a bad mood."

 

"Magic?" Magnus offers.

 

"Must be."

 

"Did that boy put you in a bad mood, or did you do it to yourself by thinking about him so much that your brain started to hurt?"

 

"The latter," Raphael says sadly, because Magnus knows him and his emotions so well that it's almost terrifying. "He invited me to come back next Sunday, but—"

 

"But what?" Magnus interrupts. "You are going, right?"

 

"I don't know," Raphael admits.

 

"It's up to you, but I think you should. From what you've told me, he sounds like a very nice person," Magnus says, and walks off into Raphael's kitchen.

 

“Okay, if you _insist_ ," Raphael says, "I'll go."

 

"Good," Magnus says, words muffled around a chocolate cake.

 

"Yeah," Raphael says.

 

So much for the distraction. But here’s the thing: Raphael is actually going to do it. He’s going to go back to that open mic – back to the place where he made a mistake – all because of Simon. One guy. Because of course. Because usually, he would let it consume him and never go back again, but Simon is apparently very important. Simon, who he knew for about fifteen minutes.

 

He’s in way too deep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Of all the embarrassing places to run into Simon, Raphael never imagined that they'd meet again in a toy store.

 

His cousin has a birthday and he somehow forgot to buy her a present. He seems to be forgetting a lot these days; poetry, birthday presents, how to act around guys...

 

He sees Simon in the aisle across from him, checking out art supplies. Raphael looks away and hopes that Simon doesn't see him, because if he saw Raphael buying fashion dolls then some questions would probably be asked, and Raphael would actually have to talk to him again. While trying to hold four Barbie doll boxes. That would not be a good situation.

 

His life ends (again!) when he hears, "So, you spend a lot of your time buying kids' stuff?"

 

Raphael turns to Simon. "I could ask you the same question," he says smoothly.

 

"Gag gifts for Clary and Luke," Simon tells him. "You?"

 

"Birthday present," Raphael replies.

 

Simon looks at him. "You're the best friend ever. I mean, wow, _four_ dolls? She's gonna adore you."

 

"I do what I can."

 

“That’s super sweet,” Simon says. “So, you coming on Sunday? I’d love to actually hear one of your poems. Something tells me you’re pretty good.”

 

“What might that be?” Raphael asks, because either he’s dead and buried in the ground or Simon is flirting with him. It’s not flirting. It can’t be flirting. Scratch that. A guy can just casually say _something tells me you’re good at writing_ without it being Weird.

 

“Well, you’re cute and you’ve obviously got a heart of gold – I mean, look at where you are! Look at what you’re doing! I’d be surprised if you weren’t good, honestly. Well, okay, that’s just me, I don’t even know you, you could be, like, a serial killer or whatever, but I – I don’t think – wow. Am I still talking?”

 

Okay. It’s definitely flirting. In Simon’s own way. _Well, you’re cute, and you’ve obviously got a heart of gold._ A guy can’t just casually say that to another guy without it being Weird. Can he? _Can he?_

 

Raphael isn’t good at this. At all.

 

“I’m not a serial killer, but sometimes…”

 

Wow! Okay, that is _not_ a thing that you say to someone you probably like. This whole concept of “liking someone” is still weird to Raphael, and he _isn’t good at this,_ but he’s pretty sure that what he just said is Not Something You Say. Actually, ever. You don’t say things like that, ever.

 

Fuck!

 

“Yeah,” Simon says, “I get you. Clary’s girlfriend has three brothers, and I’m pretty sure that they all hate me. Well, except Max, but he’s like, ten, so you know. I kinda feel like that sometimes, too.”

 

Wait.

 

So: Raphael only occasionally listens to Magnus’ ramblings about the Lightwood family. He loves Alec. He’s in love with Alec. Which is cute and wonderful, but he also talks about Isabelle, Jace, and Max. And Isabelle’s girlfriend, because she’s a _lesbian, Raphael, there are no heterosexual Lightwoods._ Which means…

 

“Um,” Raphael says.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I think we have a mutual friend.”

 

“Oh, cool, who?”

 

“Do you know Magnus Bane?”

 

Simon’s face lights up. “Yeah! That’s her brother’s boyfriend – uh, Alec’s boyfriend. And one of Clary’s friends. How do you know him?”

 

“We’re neighbors,” Raphael says.

 

“So you mean every time I go to his apartment, you’re right next to me? Man, small world. I might have to visit you next time.”

 

Now Raphael is, internally, probably completely melted. “You should.”

 

Simon laughs, and _laughs,_ and then realizes the uncomfortableness of the situation. “Well, um, I should… yeah. I should get back to the – yeah. Nice talking to you.”

 

“You too.”

 

Raphael watches Simon walk away. He’s completely _screwed._

* * *

 

 

This time he actually remembered to bring a fucking _poem._ Despite the fact that hearing Simon sing for him again would be wonderful, he doesn’t want to make a mistake like that again. Ever again. Raphael Santiago does not make mistakes.

 

Except for that one time, but he’s here to rectify it.

 

That's the whole reason that he decided to come today. Not because of Simon. Not because of Simon whatsoever, at all.

 

Simply so he can fix his mistake.

 

 Right.

 

 As he walks in, he very subtly scans the coffee shop for any sign of Simon. He didn’t come here for Simon, _obviously,_ but you know, seeing Simon’s face would be nice. So he doesn’t freak out and die.

 

 Raphael Santiago does not “freak out”. That would be a mistake. A major mistake. But, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he has anxiety. Seeing Simon, someone _familiar,_ would make things _way_ better. He still has this terrifying fear of public speaking. Also: there’s just something about Simon that makes everything _calmer._ Simon is calming. His very presence makes Raphael feel serene.

 

Yeah, so maybe he did come here for Simon. So what?

 

The problem is: Simon isn’t here.

 

Raphael does not “freak out”.

 

He could be in the bathroom. He could be outside! He could be anywhere in the general vicinity of the coffee shop. He does, Raphael reminds himself, have a life outside of open mic nights at coffee shops, and he _does,_ of course, have a life outside of Raphael Santiago.

 

Raphael writes his name down on the sign-up sheet and buries himself into the back of the room, far enough from the stage that no one can see him, but close enough to it that he can actually _see_ whoever will be on stage. “Stage” being a set-up of a wooden platform that looks only dubiously safe. He wants to see them. He’s going to be on that somewhat safe wooden platform in approximately fifteen minutes and Simon isn’t here and – yeah, Raphael is freaking out. Which. Is a mistake, but meeting Simon here was like diving headfirst into a giant pool filled with mistakes and also very hungry sharks, but whatever. He is – holy shit – getting _used_ to mistakes.

 

This is not acceptable.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Things get even more unacceptable when the last performer looks down at the list, calls out his name, and runs off stage like she knows Shit Is About To Go Down.

 

Okay.

 

Okay, Raphael can do this.

 

He really can. He can do this. He is capable of doing this. He is capable of doing a lot of things. He can do many things. Like perform an incredibly personal piece of poetry in front of a full coffee shop, completely alone, with the person he actually maybe sort of knows being absent.

 

One foot in front of the other. That is how walking works. That’s definitely how you walk. You move your legs in a forward motion until you—

 

Trip.

 

 …in Raphael’s defense, walking is hard. Walking is _hard,_ okay, it’s _hard._ Apparently it’s more complicated than one foot in front of the other. Apparently it also involves actually making sure you look at where you’re going, and checking to see if you are in front of the decidedly definitely unsafe large wooden platform-slash-stage.

 

Right.

 

As if he was waiting for the perfect moment, as if on cue, a very Simon hand wraps around him and pulls him up.

 

“Whoa, you okay?”

 

Raphael turns to him, and then looks around; everyone is staring. This is exactly what he didn’t want. But Simon’s touching him, so – momentarily, everything is okay. Everything is just fine.

 

“Why does this always happen,” Raphael says, and tries his hardest to ignore the Severe Burning Pain in his shins.

 

“Raphael,” Simon repeats, “are you okay.” It’s more of a demand than a question. God. Raphael needs to – stop. Every time that he goes out of his comfort zone, Bad Shit Happens.

 

He is never coming back to this coffee shop, ever again.

 

Screw Simon.

 

“I’m going home,” he says. Makes his best attempt to walk towards the door – again, Severe Burning Pain. This pain is homophobic. It’s inconveniencing him, a gay man, which means it is homophobic.

 

“Wait—”

 

Raphael storms out.

 

(Apparently riding a motorcycle with homophobic shin pain isn’t fun.)

 

(Fuck this shit.)

 

* * *

 

 

When he gets home, he puts ice on his legs, turns on the TV and watches more Parks and Recreation. His life is going downhill so fast, why _not_ become the kind of person who is glued to their television 24/7. He can never leave the house again, so this is looking like the best option.

 

There is definitely something going on with Amy Poehler’s character – Leslie – and her best friend (Ann?). They’re gay. They’re in love and Raphael will not accept anything less.

 

Is Raphael i—

 

No.

 

There’s a knock at the door, also perfectly timed to distract him.

 

“Magnus,” he says. “Come in.”

 

“I’m not Magnus, and your door is locked.”

 

Raphael can’t catch a break. Can the universe _please,_ for once, let him _live._

He sighs. “It’s not locked, just twist the handle a little bit harder.”

 

There’s a choir of grunting noises and what sounds like a battle to the death between Simon and the door handle, and then Simon walks in.

 

“I forgot you know where I live now,” Raphael says, laughs some pained laugh. And then, more serious: “Why are you here?”

 

“I feel terrible,” Simon admits. “I mean, I’m the one who made you come back, and then you got hurt, and—”

 

“Simon,” Raphael says sternly. “I came back because I wanted to come back. It’s not your fault.”

 

“I feel like it is.”

 

“It’s not, trust me.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You don’t have to be.”

 

Simon looks like he’s going to argue, and then – Raphael can tell – visibly stops himself, yells at himself internally. Then he clenches his fists, and turns to the television. “Huh,” he says. “I love this show.”

 

“You can watch with me,” Raphael says. “If you want.”

 

“Yeah,” Simon says, sitting down on the floor next to him. “Okay, I’d like that.”

 

And—

 

And when the episode is over, he looks up at Raphael. “Still haven’t heard any of your work,” he says. “I know now probably isn’t the time, but… look, I like you. I want to get to know you better. If you’re cool with that, I mean.”

 

“I like you too, I _guess,_ ” Raphael says back, and – shit, he hopes that Simon gets the sarcasm. “I want to get to know you better, too. Can I show you something?”

 

“Yeah!”

 

Raphael reaches into his pocket, pulls out the paper, and starts reading to Simon.

 

(It’s beautiful, Simon says, when Raphael reaches the end.)

 

(You’re beautiful, Raphael thinks. In his mind – as cheesy and gross as it is – he writes a new poem.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO. This is bad but I've been working on it on and off since June. So. Yeah. Please tell me what you think thanks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


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